


Learn to Live (With the Unimaginable)

by aidennestorm



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 5+1 Things, Abusive Relationship, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Consent Issues, Discussion of PTSD, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Friendship, Gaslighting, Gen, LAMS ANGST, M/M, Recovery, Self-Doubt, Self-Harm, Wham happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 03:10:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18842416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aidennestorm/pseuds/aidennestorm
Summary: A chance encounter with a fellow student leads Alex to more—Much more, and much worse, before it gets better.(Or, five times Alex says no, and one time Alex says yes.)





	Learn to Live (With the Unimaginable)

**Author's Note:**

> I usually leave a fic to stand alone for you as the reader to determine how to interact with it. But this is the first time, I think, that I've purposefully set out to write something with a pointed meaning, so I felt like I was doing a disservice if I let it pass without comment. Please read the tags; stay safe. If this sounds familiar-- [you're not alone.](https://www.thehotline.org/)

It’s a coincidence that Alex attends the campus protest.  
  
The obnoxious evangelical group from halfway across the country is gathered in the “free speech” green, old white couples carrying bibles and tacky banners and shouting verses through their megaphones, a growing group of students encircling them with their own handmade signs.  
  
Alex stumbles upon the tense standoff as soon as he rounds the corner of one of the science buildings near the center of campus—but, unfortunately, after lingering in econ to argue with the professor about an assignment, he’s three minutes away from arriving late for a chemistry quiz. Even with the inevitable delay from having to navigate through the commotion, he’s still on the fastest route.  
  
He sighs, shoulders his bulging backpack, and tries to pass by as efficiently as he can. One of the largest student signs stops him in place with its sheer garishness, neon pink poster board and huge black letters lined with holographic glitter:  
  
Tell your  
̶ ̶b̶r̶o̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ ̶  
̶ ̶s̶i̶s̶t̶e̶r̶ ̶  
sibling  
to rise up!  
  
When the sign moves a moment later and the owner stares at him from across the lawn, all dark eyes and curly hair and freckles—  
  
Alex falls _instantly._  
  
\- - - - -  
  
After Alex escapes from the hell that is chemistry, it only makes sense to retrace his steps on his way to the library for his planned late night study session. But by the time he ambles past the green, the crowds are dispersed—except, he realizes with a sudden jolt, the owner of the pink sign.  
  
Apparently the guy noticed _him_ too, because his whole face lights up as soon as he sees Alex approach. He hands his sign off to someone Alex can only assume (hope) is a friend, a tall, broad guy, built like a linebacker and wearing the most gorgeous navy du-rag Alex has ever seen.  
  
“You missed all the fun!” Sign Owner exclaims. Now that Alex is closer, he can see the sticker declaring a name (John) and pronouns (he/him/his). “Too bad you didn’t come earlier; I would’ve put you to work.”  
  
John has a smile like sunshine, bright and radiant, and Alex can’t help but grin back. “Well, I’m here _now._ Anything I can do to help?”  
  
John eyes his empty arms, while Alex tries not to blush like a fucking idiot under the scrutiny. “We could use a hand.”  
  
The friend—Herc, Alex finds out, when he introduces himself with a powerful but friendly handshake—has his own class to run to, so it’s just John and Alex each lugging an armful of signs to a closet tucked away on the third floor of the student union. Despite the fact that he’s never met John before in his life, Alex immediately feels at ease. There’s laughter, and curious questions, and Alex finds himself answering them all—  
  
_You’re right, I’m not part of the queer student group._  
  
_I don’t have anything against it. I’m just too busy studying._  
  
_I have a scholarship to keep._  
  
_Sure. I assume everyone misses a community they don’t have._  
  
—and there’s directions, once they finally reach the small, dark space. Alex lets himself be guided without complaint as he creates a neat stack in the back of the room.  
  
When he turns to leave, John is leaning on the door. Arms crossed, studying him.  
  
Alex raises an eyebrow, even though his skin suddenly feels hot. “What?”  
  
John’s eyes gleam. “Take a break with me.”  
  
Alex shrugs helplessly. His backpack weighs heavy on his shoulders. “Nah, man. I appreciate it, but I have to get back to—”  
  
Then John surges forward, framing Alex’s face in warm hands. Soft lips cutting off the rest of his sentence, kissing so hard and deep Alex’s lip bruises.  
  
Alex shivers, and it feels like the sudden drop off the highest point of a roller coaster.  
  
\- - - - -  
  
A month into their relationship, and they still spend most of their evenings fooling around on John’s sleek couch. Teeth marks and bruises and hickeys forming on each other’s throats, bodies grinding against each other with all the hurried desperation of new attraction. And Alex—  
  
He’s kissed a handful of people before John. Eagerly groped over clothes. Gotten off in the privacy of his own bedroom thinking about it after, but for all his flirtations his strongest drives have always been in his writing, in the words that don’t let him _rest,_ and he’s never…  
  
_“John,”_ he mutters, tense under John’s fingers circling his wrist, tugging him toward the waistband of John’s boxers. “Wait—”  
  
John pauses at the last moment and changes tack, instead shoving Alex’s hand between layers of fabric. Right over the strip of skin exposed by a button undone. As soon as Alex collides with fever-hot skin and wiry curls, John moans, pleasure written across every line of his face. “Oh god, _yeah,_ like that.”  
  
Alex’s chest is tight, nervous energy pulsing under every heartbeat. His breath leaves him in a surprised gasp when John’s hand curls around his own, tightening around his cock. Moving in frantic strokes until John shudders and gives a strangled shout.  
  
His come is tacky on Alex’s hand, and Alex’s cock stiffens when John lifts the hand to his mouth and sucks Alex’s fingers clean.  
  
\- - - - -  
  
Alex never stops working on his laptop late into the night. It’s when he does his best writing, and staying up late means he doesn’t have to _think._ Means that he can throw himself into assignments and his own projects without worrying that the frenetic restlessness of his brain will pull him down dark thought-paths he’s long been avoiding.  
  
Conversely, John never stops _disliking_ it. It’s a rare night that John sleeps peacefully when Alex isn’t in their bed, nestled close around John’s back. Rarer still that John doesn’t try to cajole him into bed anyway, teasing hands slipping beneath his shirt, lips pressing against his throat, murmuring _please, Alex, I miss you. Don’t you miss me, too?_  
  
It’s almost like a game, now. A Choose-Your-Own-Adventure story where all roads still lead to one ending. Alex sighs and reminds John that he’s busy. John pouts even as his nimble fingers work Alex’s fly open. Alex tries not to moan and John grins in his victory.  
  
Repeat _ad nauseam._  
  
\- - - - -  
  
“Have you seen my jacket?” Alex calls, head buried deep in his side of their shared closet. “Knowing Herc, he’ll want to eat on the patio, and the wind is absolute shit downtown— _aha!”_  
  
He glares at the offending object—how _dare_ it try to hide in the mess John is always nudging him to clean up—and then holds it up, triumphant. “Found it! Ready to go?”  
  
He turns, and both his body and his smile freeze in place. Stunned to silence by the sight of John stretched out on their bed on all fours, fully naked and ass upturned, black collar fastened around the hollow of his throat. It takes a few moments before he manages to protest hoarsely, “This isn’t funny, John. We have places to be.”  
  
“You can make time for everything and everyone else,” John argues. His voice is slightly muffled by the pillows, but his displeasure is unmistakable. “But not for _me.”_  
  
Alex rubs his temples, swallows past the sudden clawing ache in his chest. “That’s not—okay, _fine,_ but we have to be quick.”  
  
He doesn’t bother to look at the clock on the nearby dresser as he drops the jacket to the floor and starts to slide his jeans down his hips.  
  
He already knows they’ll be late.  
  
\- - - - -  
  
Once they get home that evening, after having finally made their dinner date, it’s John who keeps them up past midnight. His hands tangle with Alex’s as John stares down at his own lap, eyes tear-filled, and talks about his father. His father, who doesn’t know about them. Who is homophobic, and cruel, and abusive.  
  
“Every time,” John whispers, hollow. “Every time I talk to him, he makes me feel like a freak. Like I’m— _bad,_ just because I love you.”  
  
Alex squeezes his hand.  
  
“That’s why when you—I know you don’t mean to hurt me, Alex, but when you reject me like you did earlier… it’s like _you’re_ telling me I’m bad.”  
  
The feelings churn in Alex’s stomach, helpless and sick and angry, rising acidic and painful in his throat. “You could _never_ be a freak. Just. I don’t know what’s _wrong_ with me.”  
  
John finally looks up and gives him a wan, unsteady smile, the tear tracks drying on his freckled cheeks. “Will you… touch me? Please?”  
  
It’s the last thing Alex wants right now. But John is hurting, and he _caused_ it, and it’s—easier, less fraught, to just lean in and give his boyfriend a gentle kiss. To guide John back onto the mattress, suck him off until he gasps, threading his hands into Alex’s hair to hold him still when he comes.  
  
\- - - - -  
  
John threatens to hurt himself twice in the span of a year, and Alex is _terrified._ He feels the weight of John’s sanity and wellbeing in his hands, spilling over with an echo of blood.  
  
Alex… copes. He bangs his head against the apartment walls when John isn’t looking, but he’s not—trying to _do anything._ It’s exasperation, frustration at the feelings he can’t quite place, and he can’t _take it_ anymore; every moment is another moment closer to shattering into something irreparable.  
  
John catches him only once, but his sharp admonition to _stop_ is the only discouragement Alex can handle. Even though it feels too raw, too risky, somehow, he repurposes a battered old journal from the depths of his closet. Fills the pages with furiously half-scrawled ramblings when it feels like his heart is breaking, and then shoves the thing so deep back into the mess that no one, least of all himself, can find it.  
  
\- - - - -  
  
He says no.  
  
He says no.  
  
He says no.  
  
He says no.  
  
He _says no._  
  
\- - - - -  
  
Time passes strangely. It’s something Alex has always felt so acutely, before, having a good memory for times and dates and events. But when Herc calls unexpectedly while Alex is loitering outside John’s pre-med class, Alex… doesn’t remember the last time they’ve talked. The downtown dinner, maybe?  
  
He picks up.  
  
_“What’s going on, man?”_  
  
Herc’s voice is familiar, and friendly, even after all this time, and Alex feels a smile break across his face. “Not much.” He shifts his bag on his shoulder. “John’s taking a final and we’re going for drinks after, but they just started so he’ll be awhile.”  
  
_“Huh, who’d have thought,”_ Herc murmurs, with a tone of voice that indicates that he’s not as surprised as his words imply. Saying _something,_ but at the same time, nothing at all.  
  
Alex frowns.  
  
_“Join me for lunch?”_ Herc continues. The line crackles as wind whips across the speaker. _“My treat. I’ll even pick you up. I’m right nearby.”_  
  
Alex glances at the closed classroom door. “I told John I’d wait for him.”  
  
_“I’ll get you back on campus before it’s over,”_ Herc promises. When Alex is silent—considering—he adds, quietly, _“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. It’s been awhile since we’ve caught up, and I miss you. That’s all.”_  
  
“It better be a damn good lunch, Mulligan,” Alex says eventually; Herc’s resulting laugh is the best thing he’s heard all day.  
  
And as promised, Herc is idling outside the building within a few minutes. As soon as Alex hops into his truck, Herc rambles about his growing tailoring business, about finishing his classes to get his entrepreneurship degree. He fills what could have been an awkward silence so easily that Alex relaxes, even when Herc asks him how his own classes are progressing. There’s been so much stress about John gaining admission to the pre-med program that it’s… _nice,_ to be able to talk about himself, for once.  
  
Once they arrive at Herc’s restaurant of choice, a little bistro a couple miles from campus, Herc parks, but doesn’t make a move to go inside. Instead, he looks over at Alex, face abruptly unreadable. “You know we’re friends, right?”  
  
Alex’s brow furrows. “Yeah, Herc. I know. Why are you telling me this?”  
  
Herc’s breath leaves him in a huff of exasperation—one Alex recognizes not as frustration at him, but Herc’s own struggle for words. Something they talked about, once upon a time.  
  
As Alex wonders how he’s suddenly remembering _that_ detail, of all things, Herc continues, “I know I met you through John. But _we’re_ friends, you and me, outside the three of us.”  
  
A complicated knot grows in Alex’s chest as Herc adds, “You could tell me if something was wrong. If you needed a friend for anything.”  
  
Alex feels himself flush hot, and then cold. All while Herc sits quietly and watches him. Not probing, not intrusive. Just… present.  
  
He thinks about the way John looks at him, so different from Herc. Like he can divine every secret. Like he can know things—make assumptions—without even asking.  
  
He thinks about John’s hands on him, a phantom touch that makes him nauseated if he sits with it for too long.  
  
He _thinks—_  
  
“How much time do you have?” Alex croaks, starting to shake.  
  
“As much time as you need.”  
  
When Herc carefully opens his arms to offer a hug, Alex gratefully falls into them.  
  
\- - - - -  
  
George Washington takes him by surprise.  
  
By all rights, Alex knows they never should have met. George has a quarter of a century on him, born of old Virginia money far removed from the poverty stricken streets of St. Croix Alex grew up on. But they’re both _here,_ in New York, and Alex knows from experience the universe doesn’t give a fuck about _should._  
  
It’s just working in his own favor, for once—because George is gorgeous, and thoughtful, and kind, and _good,_ and the fact that he somehow finds Alex just as enchanting is a perpetual mystery.  
  
He’s also the type of man John would have hated on principle alone, and Alex isn’t delusional enough to deny it secretly delights him.  
  
Or not so secretly, when Alex finally admits this fact to George one evening, curled close and comfortable against his boyfriend’s bare chest. There’s a moment of silence when Alex worries he’s offended George—until he glances up into dark eyes and finds nothing but amusement.  
  
“You can laugh,” Alex says, a relieved grin spreading across his own face. “I’m hilarious.”  
  
George runs a broad, soothing hand down Alex’s back. “It’s not that I find it funny, or not funny. I’m simply… glad that your ex wouldn’t like me. Seems like a good sign.”  
  
Alex swallows back the sudden tightness in his throat, the tears that prick too easily in his eyes. “It’s a great sign,” he agrees, pushing himself up on his arms to look at George more fully. “I’ve _never_ thought of you two in the same way. May not seem like it when I’m naked and hyperventilating in your bed, but—”  
  
_“Hey,”_ George interrupts gently. His voice is sure and steady when he reminds Alex, “You don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”  
  
“I’m not ashamed,” Alex contradicts, but it’s half-hearted and unconvincing. “Broken, maybe.”  
  
That’s an old argument, too.  
  
“You’re not broken.” George squeezes Alex along his side, solid and reassuring. “And even when you feel it, you’re still hanging on. I’m so _proud_ of you, Alexander.”  
  
Alex blinks back his tears for an entirely different reason, now, overwhelmed with so much affection and gratefulness that he blurts, “I love you so fucking much.” Grinning when George’s eyes widen in pleased surprise, then shifting onto his knees and settling astride George’s lap.  
  
“And I love you.” George smiles in return, a sight that still leaves Alex utterly breathless, and puts his hands on Alex’s waist, holding him still as Alex gives a teasing rock of his hips. “But you don’t have to prove anything to me.”  
  
“I know.” He leans in, lips brushing against the shell of George’s ear as he murmurs, hot and honest and eager, “I _want_ you to fuck me.”  
  
He draws back in time to see George’s eyes darken, but the broad hands remain carefully still. “Truly?”  
  
It’s not a trap. There are no consequences to fear, no bargaining, no deals to make. It’s just the two of them, and the desire they share.  
  
He’s _free,_ and Alex—  
  
He says _yes._

**Author's Note:**

> This 5x1 fic lived in at least three different forms before this idea emerged-- but once it did, it took root and wouldn't let me rest until I finished it. My forever thanks, as always, for everyone that encouraged me along the way and to you for reading. <3

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [City of Kites and Crows](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21813220) by [that_this_will_do](https://archiveofourown.org/users/that_this_will_do/pseuds/that_this_will_do)




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